Complications, Whatever
by Greenaleydis
Summary: Sometimes things can get complicated. But who cares? A series of Dramione situations.
1. Elevator Music

**One**

_**Elevator Music**_

Hermione Granger stepped into the Ministry lift, putting quills into individual slots in her bag and allowing some memos to fly into the space above her head. She had much to worry about today - meetings all morning, reports due in the afternoon, and possibly a visit to the Weasley's after she was done - if she had time.

As the gate began to close, a hand suddenly appeared between the gate and the wall, and it opened again to reveal a slightly disheveled Draco Malfoy.

Hermione froze. She hadn't seen him in months, so his sudden appearance startled her slightly, and she covered up her surprise by clearing her throat and readjusting her bag. He strode in and stood beside her, not especially acknowledging her presence but not pretending to ignore it either.

As the mechanical locks and gears clicked and the elevator began to move, sideways, forwards, down, up, she came to realize that he was looking at her.

She swallowed, unsure if he was smirking or scowling, and unsure of why she cared. Surely he knew better than to make some comment to belittle her, years after the War. Surely he wouldn't prove everyone right and be the same prick he had always been.

Her cheeks reddened as she realized that he was still looking; she could see his head turned in her direction in her peripherals.

This was too much. As if she didn't have enough to worry about today, here he was, creating such an unnecessary nuisance! She turned to give him a piece of her mind, to demand why he was being such a prick without even saying anything, but was startled by his calm expression. She gawked for a second, then turned her head away quickly, realizing that her odd behavior was becoming conspicuous.

"You look nice today, Granger," he said, his lips curling into a small smile.

She glanced back at him, wondering if she had gone mad. He was looking back at her with his calm eyes and a hint of humor in his expression. Heat crept up her chest, and soon she was blushing. "Thanks," she murmured without thinking, her hand reaching up to make sure her hair was in place.

His eyes followed her hand, and she could feel them rove across her face.

What was he on about, complimenting her like that? Her hand left her hair to join the other behind her back, hiding it from his view.

The normally quick Ministry lift seemed to take forever now, and she felt every bump and corner with a slight cringe. Still, she liked to think that she was a different person now, and wasn't one to play his little games.

The lift finally reached her floor, and Hermione all but bolted out the door after a quick muttered "bye." She took fast strides down the corridor, but when she looked back, he was still looking at her, the memos floating around his head like little birds, wanting to know what was so interesting about her.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ The first of hopefully many. This is where I'm putting my random Dramione ideas that are not meant for a story just yet, if at all.


	2. Hello, It's Late

**Hello It's Late**

You walk outside, and everything is so much brighter than where you were a few seconds before. You step carefully forward, knowing that you are squinting like an old woman but pretending that no one notices. You briefly contemplate the use of an eye patch, like those old pirates from the 1700s. Somehow the thought of pirates distracts you enough so you forget why you are outside, and where you happen to be going. Because thinking about that is unproductive and unnerving, and it is too early in the day to be on edge.

A bell jingles, and the air tightens around you as light is concentrated through dusty windows and holes in lace curtains. There are books everywhere, the kind of books that kids pass immediately in favor of more color and fun. Those kinds of books immediately catch your eye, and smell like stale bread and dry ink.

He is there, as he was yesterday and the day before. It is such an odd place, really, to hang out at this time of day, but it is far too early in the day to be judging other people's routines, especially if your track record isn't so shiny either.

He hasn't noticed you yet. He's still immersed in his book, some large, withering green tome full of symbols and wonder. You start to translate the rune on the spine in your head, but don't really care what it says. He'll always be the same no matter what book he happens to be reading.

"You're early," he says, turning a page and not looking up.

You shake your head. "I arrive precisely when I want to, not a minute before or a minute after. Besides, early is on time, and on time is - "

"Yes, yes," he says, irritation creeping into his voice. Your cheeks redden as you realize that you had attempted to lecture him.

He knows your defense mechanisms well.

"You don't have to be nervous. We are just going for coffee."

Yes, well coffee did make you nervous. Normally the coffee would have you practically shaking in your heels all day as you sorted through endless documents and translated runes from old texts to blank parchment.

The worst part was that it wouldn't be the actual coffee that would make you quiver like that.

"Relax. Let me get my things, and we'll leave."

You nod as he steps past you, and you realize that your hands are still covered in ink. You stare down at them in slight disgust, noting that they look almost moldy, before you realize that he is in front of you again, shouldering his bag and fastening a few buttons on his coat.

The walk is short; he chooses his meeting places well. One block, a slight left and you are there, stepping into a little cafe with a hand carved sign and a plump man smiling at his favorite customers.

"Good day, Rupert."

"Good day, Mr. Malfoy. Would you like coffees again today, sir?"

He is staring at you intently, trying to read your thoughts. His gaze doesn't break from your face as he says, "I think we'll take tea today. Thank you."

You barely register the familiar wooden seat under you, pulled out by an unlikely gentleman who is now sitting across from you, still staring with those eyes.

It was too early in the day to be _studied_ so.

"I'm sure you are wondering what my intentions are."

"Yes."

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me, actually."

"As a matter of fact, I do. I've made a list."

"Have you, now?" His good-humored smirk makes you blush again. "Let's have a look."

You pull a crumpled bit of parchment out of your robes, your foot already beginning to tap on the floor. Tap tap. He's reading it, his eyes scanning from each numbered list item to the next.

"Are you even pausing to formulate your answers?"

"I don't need to," he says, folding up the parchment and putting it in his own coat pocket. "I can answer all your questions thusly: in due time, you will know."

"You are unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

Tea appears, and Draco pours a cup for you. You half expect him to ask how may sugars you take, but he won't, because he knows that you don't like to add sugar if you can avoid it. As soon as he's finished you retrieve the cup and sip slowly.

Instead of filling his own cup, he watches you, like he has done so many times before. Why must he always _watch_ you so? It had a way of making you uncomfortable.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Are you nervous?"

"No. Why would I be nervous.?"

He shrugs. "You seem nervous."

You can't remember how to put your mask on, how to protect yourself against this man. You are in too deep already, and you know this. He knows this. He's using it to his advantage and doesn't even have to tell you.

Tap tap tap.

"Are you sure you aren't nervous?"

Could he be any more infuriating? It was too early in the day to be such a prick. Your face clouds over slightly into the expression you know you wear when you are about to start lecturing.

And then, his hand.

"You aren't nervous, then."

His hand is on your leg under the table, keeping your heel from clicking on the floor. Your movements cease and you try not to think about his warm fingers around your thigh, the fact that this table has no tablecloth so _anyone _walking by would see what he was doing. You try not to care that his hands is inching up your skirt already, just under the hemline, and if he moved a few more clicks he'd reach the end of your stockings.

You try not to think about his smirk, his look of knowing that hasn't left your face since you've arrived.

If he looks at you, you melt away; if he doesn't look at you, you turn cold and frigid. You don't know which one will hurt more.

"Still not nervous?"

"I don't fancy a game of Chicken while I'm in public, Malfoy," you say chidingly, trying to sound confident but knowing that your eyes are too wide to pull that off.

His own eyes are still smiling. "I wasn't playing anything."

"That's likely," you retort, taking another sip of your tea to hide your excited breathing. His hand is gone, but your leg is still on fire. You cross one over the other to try to erase the memory of his touch from your skin. "Everything is a game to you, Malfoy."

"And I've picked a pretty dangerous one, haven't i?"

Yes, he has. You know this. You are high maintenance, though you try not to be; you are annoying, though you'd like to think you aren't. You are intelligent, ridiculously so, though this man continues to confound you. You are strong and stubborn, standing up for what is right at every possible turn…

Yet you are illogical.

Because surely, nothing about this is right. Nothing about sitting in a coffee shop with Draco Malfoy could be rationalized as a "good" idea. But there you were.

With him, rationality did not matter.

"What are you doing later?" you ask boldly, your legs uncrossing and your shoulders straightened forward.

Your eyes are expectant, and so are his. "I'm having dinner with you I believe."

You smile. It was too early in the day to be so afraid of him.

* * *

_Author's note:_ I didn't even know you could use this tense and have it work. I'm still not sure that it does. Anyway.


End file.
